Limitless
by Hard-Knock-Life
Summary: Follow my OC as she explores life's possibilities. Her future is constantly determined by ever-changing factors that can tip the balance for the better... or the worst. Your suggestions, your prompts all explored in different arcs... with different outcomes. The possibilities are Limitless.


**Limitless**

By HardKnockLife

**A/N: **I got really ticked off at Soul Bound, so I wanted to test my change in style by starting a completely new story, based loosely off of my OC, Elena from Soul Bound. This version is almost completely different from the other one, so don't be surprised if it isn't like it was before... at all. In fact, they are two completely different plotlines. Only my characters are the same.

**Summary:** Follow my OC as she explores life's possibilities. Her future is constantly determined by ever-changing factors that can tip the balance for the better... or the worst. Your suggestions, your prompts all explored in different arcs... with different outcomes.

**Disclaimer:** Let it be knownn that I hereby disclaim all that is related to Ghost Hunt. I own only Elena, Alexa, other assorted characters, and stories written from the prompts that I recieve. Partial credit goes towards prompters as well, and is given at the beginning of each arc.

* * *

**Arc One: The Path of Damnation**

**Prompt Statement/Question (**From silentdove93**): **_It isn't just another happily ever after, the_  
_characters actually have to deal with real life, loss, frustration, and of course a few ghosties._

It made me wonder just how far I could break the cutie... I decided to shatter her world_._

* * *

**Prologue**

_New York City, New York- America, 1953_

Two large men lounged outside the brick courthouse, heads down so that the brims of their hats covered ther faces. The constant flashes of light and ndistnguishable mutterings of the media failed to distract them. The largest of the two gave a weary sigh as he crushed his spent cigarette under the heel of his fine shoes. He pulled the cream fedora from his head for a moment to run his hand atop slicked-back hair before repositioning it- but not before a flash from one of the nearby cameras signaled that his picture had been taken.

The smaller man reached into the pocket of his black pinstripe suit to pull out a fresh smoke and a silver lighter. With a newly lit cigarette placed firmly at the side of his mouth, he growled, tilting his face skyward where dark clouds were gathering.

"Damn leeches. I hope it rains on them; it'll show them a thing or two." The smaller man's eyes lowered to the reporters and cameramen that had taken to camping in front of the courthouse.

The taller man shoved both hands into the pockets of his overly large beige coat before replying to his partner. "I kinda feel sorry for the poor bastards. Can you imagine it all: running around all day, chasing false leads and being universally hated just to earn an honest day's pay?"

The man in the pinstripe snorted derisively. "'Honest day's pay', my ass. There's nothing honest about the parasites!"

"That's some pretty powerful cynicism there, Jacobs."

"They aren't like you and me, Ross- serving the city, putting criminals behind bars. They take the cases we work our asses off to build up, glorify the villain with some bullshit opinions and twisted facts, then feed their own version of the story to the flock of sheep."

Detective Jacobs flicked his smoldering cigarette butt towards the road just as the first droplets began to fall from the sky. The small crowd gathered in front of the courthouse immediately began to disperse. Journalists held ther notpads over their head in an attempt to stave off the sudden downpour, while their cameramen and photographers covered up their expensve equipment.

Detective Ross rustled around in his overcoat pockets before pulling out a thick wad of papers. They were all bent and crinkled around the edges from being shoved into the cloth pouches. The man shook his head, muttering something under his breath before checking the time on his watch. New cars were beginning to pull up to park near the curb in front of them. Women and men flocked up the stairs. Some were dressed in something remniscent of funeralwear and trudged with eyes full of dread, while others were perfectly content to jabber to the person next to them as though they hadn't a care in the world. How anybody could walk into a courthouse with a cheerful expression, Ross didn't know.

"'Leeches' aside..." He dewrinkled the stack in his hand and turned fully to his partner. "An hour and five minutes 'til our case, old friend." The taller man shoved the papers to his friend, who was still glaring down to the 'parasites' at the base of the stone staircase. "You might as well study and plan out what you're gonna say when you're called up to the stand."

The smaller man wrinkled his nose in distaste when he took the bundle, recognizing them as the files for the duo's most recent case. He sifted through them, careful to avoid the occasional stain on the paper or overly large tear that had some pages almost ripped in half. A brusque grunt accompanied his furrowed brows and sneering lips.

"Nothin' to say about it, partner. It's about a man who drinks until he can't see straight, then goes home and takes his frustration out on his wife and unborn child. It's a routine case, and I'm fairly sure that the jury'll want the bastard to rot in jail."

"Don't get cocky and think that we've won. Only an idiot gets a swelled head before a case."

Jacobs snarled at the older man, reguarding him as though he were an idiot. "What the hell makes you say that!" He ripped a glossy photo, held against the packet by a single paper clip, from the papers and shoved it in Ross's face. The senior detective looked back into a battered wife's cold eyes. Purple blemishes littered her skin, and scratches were layered on top of older scars. "How is _this_ not sufficient evidence! It looks like some deranged fucking child finger-painted her black and blue!"

Ross didn't even flinch at the smaller man's outburst. His lips pulled into a tight, strained line. "They've got that whiz defense attourney. You know, the one who saved that rapist from prison?"

"That kid from the firm in Buffalo?"

Ross nodded in affirmative. "Yeah. Got the little shit off by saying that the whole damn thing had been fabricated or something. Apparently all the girls that were involved had been close-knit since junior high, and had all asked the man out before, but had been turned down. Some of them more than once. According to Meyers, it was a setup to get revenge."

The younger man sucked air in through his teeth. "I heard about physical evidence, though. What happened to that?"

"The sample that they got from one of the girls?" Ross gritted his teeth. "The rapist claimed it was consentual. It was understandable, after all "the girl had been attracted to him before, so why not now"? That's the reasoning Meyers used to explain it all. But you could tell..."

"Tell what?"

"You could see it in the way the little shit's eyes glittered as the jury proclaimed him to be not guilty. He was so fuckin' smug. And the look he threw those girls... it was like he was gloating about his big win, like it was all a little game." Ross's hands clenched in fury. "You could see it in the way that those girls shrank away from him; they were terrified of him, Jacobs. You could tell he'd done it!"

Jacobs stared out at the rain for a moment, head clearing. The reporters and cameramen huddled in their white news vans, dishevelled and wet, staring at them with curiosity. The younger man clenched the case files tightly, crinkling them further as he thought of something to say to his distressed friend.

"We've been workin' together a long time, Guy, but I've never heard anything about that case from you. You sound like you got a real beef with it, like it was something personal."

Ross walked past him, head down, the brim of his hat shading his face, making it look weary. "That's all done with, Jacobs. All that matters is that we put this guy away here and now. This one's gonna rot."

"And Meyers?"

"That little priss is gonna have his parent-fed ego cut down to size when we shove all of his 'evidence' back in his pretty boy face."

* * *

Defense Attourney Jean Meyers bit into his sandwich, wearing a slight frown. The man's immaculate suit was wrinkled and dowsed in rainwater, something he'd disliked very much. But at least his briefcase had kept the manilla folders dry enough to work with. Only the smallest droplets of water had touched the his case files.

Finishing the last of the sub off, he dusted his hands and ran a nearby napkin over the corner of his lips. Meyers kicked back and shifted in the soot-grey office chair, which had been bought for him as a gift from his parents. Papers rustled slightly as the lawyer brushed through the manilla folders. The pages were all starting to show the slightest discoloration and wrinkling from where his fingers had been so many times before. Sighing, we wondered just how many times he'd flipped through those very same files, only to become sick all over again. It was probably the pictures.

"Stephen Mills, age fourty-two. No prior criminal records. Psyche evaluation proves agressive tendancies. Alchoholic." Meyers removed a photo from one of the folders and placed it on the oak desk in front of him.

Stephen Mills' eyes were stuck in a permanent glare, accompanied by an equally perpetual sneer. The man's clothes were those of a stereotypical wife-beater. A white tank top, covered in all manner of stains and rips. His hair had begun thinning by the time he had turned thirty-eight and the rest had been buzzed close to his head.

"Caroline Mills, age fourty. No prior criminal records. Short term spent in mental facility for claims of psychic powers. Psyche evaluation shows high levels of paranoia; normal for ward patients and abusees." Her photo was placed beside her husband's.

Caroline's picture was taken when she was in her mid-thirties. Her dark brown hair had tints of red in it, perfectly highlighting beautiful green eyes. She was smiling, whirling gracefully in a white sundress. Another picture was set down next to it. Her eyes had faded into a dull grey and her smile was hidden behind tightly drawn bloodless lips. Bruises on her cheekbones and arms were the most prominent, standing stark against deathly pale skin. Scars and scrapes ran in crisscrossing patterns all along her arms, some even peeked out from beneath the collar of her flowery hospital gown. He could see the slight bulge of her abdomen before the picture cut off.

"How somebody could turn something that lovely into a punching bag, I'll never know." Meyers lifted up the first picture of Caroline, gazing at it with sorrow. "But I'm not paid to ask questions, no matter how questionable my clients are."

The young attourney reached into the topmost drawer of his desk to pull out an old tape recorder. It had begun collecting dust, and had accumulated its fair share, since their last case. Oh, and what a case it was; defending some scumbag rapist against life in prison. That ugly orange jumpsuit would suit the disguisting man well, in Meyers' own opinion. He would have been put behind bars too, if only the man's father hadn't bribed the young lawyer's parents to force him into taking the case.

Jean knew very well what winning that case had meant for him. He was universally hated; respected entirely, but hated all the same. He still remembered the look that the Prosecution's detective had given him. What had his name been? Ross? Had it been pity that had crossed the older man's features, or perhaps an odd mixture of dislike and sympathy? An odd mixture indeed.

Balancing the tape recorder in his hand, he clicked the red button to begin. "Bruises all along the victim's body recieved confirmation from medical specialist: placement could indicate possible self harm. All scratched and bruises are easily accessible for victim. Physical evidence coupled with mental instability from the past may point towards self-inflicted wounds. Reason for self harm unknown; possible theories to be announced at a later time." He added a quiet side note. "Though, it's quite a jump to go from claiming to see the future to cutting and beating yourself."

He clicked the button to stop the tape and placed the recorder on the corner of his desk before picking up the couple's financial records to flip through them with deft fingers. "Records normal. No sign of large transactions or loss of money. No large debts." In fact, the couple was very well off. Stephen owned and operated a popular company that manufactured children's toys. "There goes Theory One."

Meyers groaned, placing a cool palm on his forehead in annoyance. "The reasons that a woman could possibly want to fake abuse and take her husband to court are too many. It will take hours to come up with a new theory, since our first was shot down." His previous statements had to be revised, since the bank records had recently been delivered. Trust the interns to send things up to his office the day before the actual hearing. "Theory Two still plausible."

Theory Two was the opposite of its older brother. While the first stated that the woman was faking in order to get away from her husband's- now proven nonexistent- debt, the second explored the possibility that Caroline wanted to have all assets to herself without all the pains of divorce or legal seperation. If Stephen was put into jail, then all money and the factory would automatically be transferred to the wife. There was a hole in Theory Two as well: Caroline needed her husband to operate and manage the factory, as she had no idea how to do it herself. Stephen himself had modified the machinery, so a typical manager would be of no use.

"Well, that theory's the best I have. I'll just have to go with it." He pushed the rolling office chair back to allow him room to get out, when his foot hit the leg of his desk. A low thunk made Meyers look up. The sudden movement had made the picture frame at the corner of his desk fall face down onto the solid oak.

He reached over and set it back up again, frowning as he did so. "Lying to a jury to protect an abusive man from his battered wife, just to gain the affections of my parents. I'm sick." He grabbed his dark overcoat and ushered out of the room without a backward glance.

A photo of his parents, dolled up and smiling fakely, had been turned away from his chair and now stared out the window of his fifth-floor office.

* * *

"Hey, Tony!" Tony stopped drumming on the steering wheel and his head snapped to the side to meet the cool gaze of his friend. "The light turned green a while ago, man. What's on your mind?"

Tony stepped on the gas and shrugged. "Hell if I know, Brosch! My girlfriend threw a fit last night and kicked me out of the house. I don't even know what I did wrong!"

Brosch let out a long breath. "The women around town are getting antsy. Some shit about some court case involving some abusive dipshit abusing some insane chick. Not much different from any of the other crazy piss that New York seems to offer, but the girls don't like it all the same."

The two men groaned in unison and waited as another stoplight turned red. Brosch moved a tuft of his baby blonde hair from his face, pushing it back and slicking it to his head with the others. He leaned against the window, staring out at New York with a distant expression. Beside him, his agitated friend's leg bounced up and down of its own accord. Hoping to break the dark silence in the vehicle, Brosch tried to start a conversation.

"So, did you end up going to that Emergency First Aid class that I signed you up for? You gotta know that stuff if you're gonna be a firefighter, you know?"

His friend gave a sharp grunt. "Yeah, just this morning. I figured it'd take my mind off of _it_."

Tony's car came to a shuddering stop at yet another red light. Brosch grimaced and muttered under his breath, "The traffic in this city is terrible."

"It's New York City, New York; The Big Apple. Would you expect anything different after living here as long as you have?" Tony made some outlandish gesture with his right hand, motioning towars the tall buildings and crowds of people migrating from street corner to street corner.

"I know that, man." The blonde resumed staring out the window, watching as his breath fogged it up slightly. "It just gets alot worse during the holidays. Everybody and their mother has to come and see the big tree and Central Park on ice."

"It's a big thing, you know?"

"Maybe to you Christian folk. To me, it's just another year I didn't get the bike I wanted from Santa."

Tony snorted with laughter at his friend's remark. "Last time I checked, you're a devout Catholic." The man made a sharp right turn. "And you haven't believed in Santa since you were three."

Brosch nodded and swatted his friend playfully on the shoulder. "So you're tellin' me I should ask God for a bike?"

"No. God doesn't work that way. You'd be better off stealing a bike and asking Him for forgiveness."

Both men let out snorting laughs as the light once again turned green and the automobile ambled along at a slow pace. Brosch's brown eyes blurred slightly with tears. Brushing them out of the corners of his eyes, he let out a satisfied sigh. His friend certainly seemed to be in a better mood after their conversation; his knuckles were no longer pale white from fripping the steering wheel and all tension had been released from his shoulders. The newly-formed smile on Tony's face brought a happy grin to Brosch's own as he gazed out at New York's large skyscrapers and bustling streets.

The streets gradually got less busy during their trip. The larger, more established buildings gave way to smaller office buildings. Most were law firms or accounting agencies that hadn't yet gained a foothold in the Big Apple's business world. Coffee shops, bakeries, and candy stores had carved out their own little niche in between the multi-story buildings. The well-known shops had tables and chairs outside, and were often used as meeting places for couples. Even now in the cold, clad in parkas and mittens was a young pair. As they passed, Brosch gave a growl of surprise.

"Yo, Tony. Isn't that Mariah?"

"What? Where?"

The black-haired man's ex was lounging across the table from a tall male, batting her eyelashed and poking her bottom lip out cutely in a pout. Tony turned sharply, startled by the news. He practically snarled, throwing himself into his friend's lap to gaze out the window. In his momentary moment of rage towards the woman, his foot hit the gas and the steering wheel jerked, sending them into oncoming traffic.

The next few moments were confusing snippets of black combined with smoke and hot fire. Screams were heard, and Tony found that he was thankful for the first aid course that he had taken that very morning as he was forced to put his newly aquired knowledge ot the test.

* * *

Jean Meyers tapped the steering wheel of his Pontiac gently, sucking on the inside of his cheek. The breifcase next to him burned hot in his periphial vision, and more than once had caught his attention on the ride to the courthouse. Guilt from the upcoming hearing burrowed inside of him, eating at him and twisting his stomach into knots, making it feel as though butterflies had taken up residency inside of it. Usually, he would brush it off and continue, like most lawyers did in order to make a living. The possible outcomes were weighing heavily upon his shoulders. On one hand, if he won the trial he would be sticking an achoholic back into a house with a wife that he saw only as a punching bag... and the baby. On the other, his parents would forever shun him if he lost the case, spurning him and accusing him of wrecking their good family name.

It wasn't his fault that his family was full of prominent and well-known beaurocrats and attourneys; or that he was the youngest out of six siblings and had to prove himself on a daily basis. The stability and familial affection of his childhood was primarily from his sickly grandmother, and even then he hadn't needed to earn it. Before she died, she had raised him to a healthy age of thirteen, and had given him his first briefcase.

Meyers reached over to stroke the alligator skin case lovingly. "With this trial I'll get their approval, Granny." He averted his eyes from the road and smiled. "Very soon, I'll be welcomed into the family like you were never able to be. Thank you for everything."

Tears blurred his vision, and he wiped them away with a shaky hand. He looked back up at the road, only to see a larger vehicle hurtling towards him.

* * *

A woman's scream pulled Tony from the edge of darkness. He rolled over, not expecting the burning agony that ripped up his arm and along his side. Disorientation clouded his vision and made it hard for him to move his body correctly. Individual fingers only twitched, never fully moving, and his limbs were limp and useless at his sides.

"Bro...Brosch... Where's...?" Tony blinked as he attempted to clear his vision, but to no avail. Plumes of smoke rose up from around him in the mangled wreckage. "Brosch?" He called out his friend's name.

A woman's voice answered him, "Your friend is alright. He jumped from the vehicle before you crashed," It took a moment to process that she was yelling at him from somewhere he couldn't see, "but you still need to get out of there!"

So, he was still inside of his car? Tony reached out blindly, brushing against broken glass and the torn leather of his front seat that had come loose when the automobile pitched over on its side. The metal framework of his baby was totalled beyond repair, but as least he and Brosch were alright. Briefly, he wondered about the other driver's health as well.

His hand grasped onto the handle above him and balanced on the driver side window, which had cracked from the impact with the hard stone road. Tony let out a yell of frustration when it wouldn't budge and slammed his fist into the metal, not even making a dent. Pushing himself up against the front seats he sent a strong kick to the already cracked windshield. Once again his side flared in agony and his arm, jarred by the sudden motion, ached near the socket.

The windshield let out a groan of protest and budged slightly, cracks extending from the edges. One more kick completely shattered the glass. Mustering up the last of his remaining energy, he used his good arm to drag himself over the glass chunks. The same woman from earlier grabbed his shoulders and murmured indiscernable whispers into his ears. He could only half process that the voice was Mariah's, but was too tired and confused to care. A stinging sensation had awoken above his right eyes and warm blood had dripped down his cheeks onto his shirt. At some point he'd hit his head or gotten cut; that would explain the disorientation.

A few feet away, he watched as helpful civilians tried to pry open the doors of the other car In the back of his mind, Tony hoped that the other driver was alright. Brosch was talking to another man across the street and had only aknowledged his friend with a nod and a thankful expression.

"The ambulance is on their way!" A man from the bakery next door shouted out the window.

Tony looked back to the mangled remaind of the other car and watched as they pulled a man from the driver side door. When had they gotten the door open? His mind was blanking and black curled around the edges of his vision.

He blinked. They knelt beside the injured driver, checking over his body and poking and prodding him.

He blinked. Somebody shouted that the man was having trouble breathing. "Does anybody have medical training?"

Tony's skills were basic, but he still raised his good arm. His bad arm jostled slightly in the slingg that he hadn't remembered being there before. "I can do the basic stuff!" His voice trembled slightly and he panted from exhaustion.

The New Yorker realized what the others must have seen in him in that moment: an injured man, barely conscious and having trouble focusing. But unknown hands dragged him up to the driver even as the crowd murmured around him. Tony leaned over the driver, supporting himself with his good arm and looked over him, occasionally feeling his ribs to check for breaks and fractures.

The man's breath was wheezing, and the rising of his chest was shallow and sluggish at best, but even as the man exhaled, it still seemed inflated. He glanced at the nametag that was pinned onto the man's suit pocket. "Jean... Jean Meyers?"

Jean groaned in response and shifted slighlty, but gave no other indication that he was responsive. Tony licked his lips nervously as he reguarded the other man- no, the boy. He was young, most likely fresh out of school and still learning the ways of the world.

"Listen to me, Jean. You have a punctured lung. I need to get the extra air out of your chest cavity, okay?" Tony turned back to the crowd. "Does anybody have a straw or tube? Or a pocket knife?"

The murmuring sprang up from the onlookers again. Some shook their heads, others asked around as well, illiciting the same response from others around them. A young man from the back shouted something that Tony took s and affirmative. A ripple passed through the throng as Brosch emerged and handed his friend the small knife. He nodded to the blond and took the blade from him.

The red and gold Winchester would suit his purpose fine. Jean's eyes had opened, and had an odd vacant look to them. Tony gulped and patted the boy's head gently. The baby blue eyes never expressed any emotion and remained glassy. "Alright kiddo." He flipped the knife open. "I'm gonna make a cut to let out the air. It's gonna hurt a lil', but bear with me."

The blue eyes stared at him blankly. Tony unbuttoned the boy's suit and pushed up the white undershirt. With steady hands and a surprisingly clear mind, he pressed the Winchester to to his chest. A gulp and he felt the sharp knife slide through the layer of tissue just above the chest cavity. A thin trickle of blood accompanied the hiss of air escaping. The crowd gasped in horror and recoiled, some claiming to be sick. Tony kept his eyes on his patient's face. He had to give the boy credit; Jean hadn't even flinched.

The eyes closed and his labored breathing continued, but seemed much more at ease now. Tony was barely aware of the next couple of minutes as the onlookers milled around him or made way as the ambulance pulled up. Jean was put onto a stretcher and taken out of the man's line of sight to be checked over. EMTs in hospital uniforms shuffled around Tony as well. He had no major injuries, other than three fractured ribs and a dislocated shoulder. His minor scratches were all treated with a sharp-smelling chemical that he couldn't seem to remember the name of.

He watched the ambulance pull away from the scene, leaving behind one of the paramedics to check over the witnesses for injuries. "So, the boy... Is Jean gonna make it?" The paramedic gazed at him thoughtfully.

"Ah, so you're the one who treated the kid?" Tony nodded. "He's gonna be just fine, but it'll be a long recovery. Both legs are broken as well as several ribs and his left wrist. On top of that, he had minor internal bleeding and a punctured lung, both of which will be treated as soon as he gets to the hospital."

"I see."

"You know, it's really thanks to you that he's alive right now."

The New Yorker looked surprised for a moment and shifted his injured arm inside the sling nervously. "You think so?"

The paramedic nodded and gave him a smile, gesturing with his hand for an onlooker with a few scrapes to sit in front of him. "Yep. If you hadn't gotten rid of the extra air, he wouldn't have been able to breathe, and probably would have died before we got here."

"I'm glad then." He rested his head tiredly against one of the bick walls by the side of the road, shivering at its coldness. He pulled his coat tighter around him, but it did little to keep out the frosty New York air.

Brosch walked over and helped his friend stand up. "C'mon pal. Let's get you inside where it's warm."

Tony nodded and thanked the paramedice, then allowed the blond to lead him away. Mariah was waiting for him inside with a worried look on her face. The tall male from earlier- who turned out to be her step-brother- was talking to her in a hushed tone. Seeing him, she walked up and flung her arms around him, sobbing and muttering apologies over and over again.

* * *

Detective Ross ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He and his young partner sat in front of the radio in their shared motel room. News of the crash downtown had been repeating itself over and over for the past three hours.

"I don't like the little bastard, but I didn't want him to get hurt."

Jacobs gave a low grunt in response and knocked back a glass of tequila. "The trial's been put on hold due to it. The judge said that his next opening is in two months. Think you can wait that long?"

Ross nodded and let his head drop into his cool palms. "I hope I can hold out until then. I hope that this ends well for us."

"It will, partner. That piece of shit's gonna rot in prison."

The older detective stared blankly at the dusty carpet of their room, standing to move over to his own bed near the door. "I hope so."

* * *

_New York Countryside, New York- America, 1996_

Eyes opened and blinked in sleepy confusion before settling on the white ceiling above them. The girl gave a small sigh and stretched her fatigued and aching body in the water, noticing that the bath had gone cold. How long had it been since she'd fallen asleep? The uncomfortable position had left a stiffness in her neck and thighs, and her arm had gone numb from hanging outside of the tub.

"Ah, Milady. I see that you have once again joined the world of the living." The girl gazed at her 'pet', mildly amused.

"Is that supposed to be some sort of ironic statement, or was the play on words unintentional?"

The man at the door gave a low chuckle. "It was merely an observation." He shuffled through the pages of a worn spiral notebook with humor dancing in his eerie blue eyes. "It's not my fault you sleep as soundly as a corpse."

The notebook caught the girl's eye as her 'pet' made his way to her. His movements were amost catlike in grace; another ironic observation. She noticed- much to her amusment- that he averted his eyes as he reached the edge of the tub, most likely to _preserve her dignity_. She almost laughed at the thought. _Ha, Dignity_! She reached over the high edge for a towel, which he handed to her without even looking. He knew her so well.

The small dry washcloth was enough to remove the water from her hands. She reached to take the notebook from his outstretched hand, careful not to rip the abused thing apart; it had seen many years and had given many years of service to aid in her goal. With deft, experienced fingers she flipped to the last entry near the back and sat back in the tub, admiring the neat loops and swirls that adorned the pape.

"Your cursive is beautiful." She gazed out of the corner of her eye, only to see his back turned towards her to give her some privacy. "It's strange since you're Japanese. You originally learned to write in kanji, if I'm not mistaken."

Her 'pet' nodded. "I could teach you, if you wanted." His voice sounded wistful, and she could see the slightest inclination of his head, as though he wanted to look back.

The girl shrugged. "I'm running out of time. It's not like I can learn to write an entire language by then. Besides, I still have things to do that have been pushed to the forefront of my mind."

He nodded. She followed the tense line of his shoulders and decided that the subject needed changing. "So, are you anxious to go back home? The address was in Japan, you know?"

"Perhaps a little."

The girl frowned, sensing no change in his suddenly strange mood. "So, when did the call come in? I didn't hear anything." The puzzlement in her voice made him smile, though she couldn't see it. She could, however, see the way his tense shoulders and back relaxed.

"So even you don't know everything, Milady," he teased her fondly. "And it was when you were playing dead. I'm surprised you didn't hear it since the call came in the adjacent room." Turning slightly, he gave her a short glance at his upturned lips and shining blue eyes. "What will I do with you, silly girl?"

The girl smiled halfway and wrung out her hair before standing up in the tub. The very action made her 'pet' turn sharply away, a dazzling pink staining his cheeks. Beaded water droplets raced down her exposed skin, tickling her slightly as they went. She threw her stiff arms up in a stretch and arched her back, hearing it pop. The stiffness in her body seemed to completely leave her as she took a few slow steps out of the tup and onto the bath mat. The man next to her had reached a shole new level of tense, almost resembling a statue.

"Mi-milady... please preserve your modesty!" Her 'pet' stuttered from embarassment.

She brushed off the comment and laughed softly. She didn't particularly care about "modesty". She had been forced to surrender it at a young age. "Could you please get my robe from the closet in the hall?"

Still red, the blue-eyed man burst out the bathroom door and out of the master bedroom into the hallway. The girl smiled softly. "He's a bit old-fashioned, but good company."

She hovered near the bathroom door, leaning against the white wood for support. The old notebook in her hands still rested on the page that she'd been admiring earlier. Tilting her chin down, she gave a small sigh. "Japan, huh?"

Warm breath tickled the back of her neck, making her hair rise from fear, but her body did not budge. This was a familiar sensation, one that she'd grown accustomed to over the years. The sinister presence cooed into her ear. "That cat is going to have a hard time finding your robe, assuming you wanted the white silk one, that is." Hands gently traced over her shoulders, sending shivers downn her spine. "Has the young Lady of this house always made it a point to walk around naked?"

She whirled to face the decievingly handsome man with a small smirk. "Only if it is in my own room." She held out her arms and faced him, staring him down with intense cat-like eyes. His own red orbs reflected amusement. "Do you often make it a point to sneak into maiden's rooms and molest them?"

The man straightened up and guided one of her outstretched arms into its proper sleeve, sliding the fabric up slowly to taunt her. He tutted, "You and I both know that you are no 'maiden'. Maidens do not speak to their servants with such venom in their words." The other arm was soon in a sleeve as well. Yet the man before her, who so resembled a devil, did not close the robe. Instead, his hand reached down to trace a small scar on the underside of her breast. She did not flinch away from his touch. This 'pet' was dangerous, and would bite his master should she show any signs of weakness. "And maidens do not have such an adundance of scars. I wonder, do you think them ugly?"

Smirking, he reached down to pull the ties closed around her waist, sparing her skin from his hungry gaze once more. She met the smoldering crimson of his eyes with her own and moved closer to him until they were chest-to-chest. The handsome devil dipped his head closer to her, leaving only mere inches between their faces. His master looked so intense that he couldn't help but feel drawn to her.

"These scars are trophies, symbols of every day in Hell that I survived. You would do well to remember that, Crow." The 'pet' licked his lips, suddenly feeling ravenous.

"Yes, Milady." Oh, yes. He was impressed by this young woman in front of him. "I will be sure to ingrain every little detail of this conversation into my mind." Strong masters were always the most fun.

The girl shoved the notebook into the devil's hands. "We leave for Japan tomorrow. Our final goal lies there."

The crow grinned eagerly. "Oh, yes. I can't wait."

The girl nodded to him, eyes narrowed. "Good. Be prepared."

The girl watched as her 'pet' made his way over to the large, human-sized window that let in light on the east wall of her bedroom. His steps were as equally graceful as her other companion's, but held a darker, more liesurely undertone, as though he were dancing on air. It would have to be a grim song indeed to make the devil happy. She didn't even bat an eyelash as he opened the window and leapt from the third story. The girl merely chuckled at his lack of decency, wondering if he had ever used a door. Probably not, she thought as she drew the thick curtains closed, freeing her room from the tyranny of the overly-bright sun.

The smooth white carpet underfoot caressed her tired arch, which had been abused lately with the amount of tie she'd spent in high heels. Even the pads of her feet had developed aches and pains of their own. With a quiet groan of relief, she flung herself backwards onto the plush mattress of her four-poster bed.

A quiet knock sounded at her door. She muttered a quiet greeting to the man outside the door, knowing perfectly well who it was. His keen ears picked up on the whispered permission and he reached down to turn the knob. A foul scent hung in the air, and he wrinkled his nose slightly in disapproval. The white-clad lump on the bed didn't move other then a slight shift in her position to allow her legs to stretch out.

"I'm assuming that the reason I couldn't find your robe is somehow related to the stench of death in the air?" The blue-eyed man's voice held the slightest amount of sarcastic humor. His master's head tilted towards him and the door so that she could better look at him.

"No, actually. My robe got up on its own and decided to come to me today. Strangest thing I've ever seen." Her voice held only the slightest edge as she remarked about her magic robe.

He chuckled and walked up alongside the bed. Careful to avoid her legs, he reached over her to place a hand on her head. "It seems that milady is delusional. Perhaps she should put off her trip to Japan?" He knew that he sounded hopeful. He could hear the pleading hiddedn statement with his own ears, and admittedly, it was pathetic.

His master sat up and reguarded him with a cool gaze. "You know I don't have time for delays. Besides, I already told the 'delivery boy' the departure time." She shrugged and leaned back slightly on her hands. "And you know that he's incredibly fickle when it comes to schedules. If I changed my mind now and told him that I'd decided not to go, he might eat me... or breathe fire or something..."

The blue-eyes man rolled his eyes. "Breathe fire?" She only glared playfully in response. Looking around the room, he inquired, "And just where is this...'delivery boy'?"

"He jumped out the window a few seconds before you arrived", she deadpanned.

He muttered something under his breath and crouched at the edge of the bed, right in front of her knees, so that he was eye-level with her. "I've also noticed that it's much quieter than usual. There are no maids cleaning or doing laundry, as per usual at this hour."

"That would be because I fired them."

The man's lips twitched as he chuckled quietly. "You're so impulsive, you know that?"

"Hmmm..." Her voice hummed deeply in her chest as she nodded. "I find that spontaneaous people are much more fun to be around."

His eyes softened at he caught sight of one of her rare genuine smiles. "It's strange seeing you this happy. I suppose that it's because you're getting closer, isn't it?"

His master only shrugged. "I think that's only part of the reason..." She trailed off and tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling.

The man placed his hands n he shoulders, making her eyes snap to meet his, most likely surprised that he was so forwrd in his actions. Normally, he was much more reserved in what he did. She was glad that this 'pet' showed restraint and respect. Had be been like the other, she probably would've ripped her hair out long ago. But his firm hands never left her shoulders, never touched anywhere that he deemed inappropriate.

He stared deeply into her eyes. "I think that you should terminate the contract with him." 'Him', no doubt was the devil from earlier. "I don't know why you keep him around any more, he's-"

His master interrupted him with a sharp shake of her head. "I can't just break the promise that I made when I'm already so close to the end. Besides, if he were gone would you help me achieve my goal?"

His blue eyes narrowed. "You already know that answer."

"So then, he is necessary, whether you like him or not."

"You don't have to go through with this, you know?" His hands gave her shoulders a gently squeeze.

She tilted her head and placed one of her petite hands on top of his own, rubbing small circles on the back of it with her thumb. Her eyes were slightly unfocused as she gazed off to the side, vision fixed on the white carpet. "I'm in too deep to walk away now. Besides, I've already fired all the maids and it would be a hassle to re-hire them all."

"I wish you would take this seriously, Milady. A life is not something to throw away." A vision of a tiny innocent girl, eyes bright and smile beaming crossed his vision. "And your life is something precious to me. I've known you since you were very small." The young man noticed the immediate change in her demeanor as her thumb stopped its minstrations.

She jerked away slighlty and stood up, not even bothering to move his hands from her shoulders. "Please don't guilt me into stopping. You know it's not going to work."

She moved away. His thumb, accidentally catching on the neck of the smooth silk and tugged it down. In that moment, his intense azure gaze caught the circular burn marks that started just above her right breast, and followed as they dipped into the valley of her cleavage. Tiny scratches littered her body as well, only a few shades lighter than the alabaster skin.

She turned away to lean against the open door, posture rigid. All signs of the playfulness earlier had left. She had gotten serious, just as he asked. The man's eyes flashed as the prominent scars on her shoulder blade were covered up by the smooth silk. If he looked hard enough, he could spot a hidden tattoo of a white rose through the thin silk, just abover her left hip. A normal human usually wouldn't be able to pick it up, but he had seen it enough to know exactly where it was and what it looked like. His eyes were also much more than human.

Human women normally would be inclined to keep such viscious scars hidden from the world, but he knew that she brandished hers like trophies. She was like an old warrior with war wounds, each telling of a victory or a loss in battle. Her scars screamed to him, shrieking out the tales of the horrors that she'd seen. That she'd been through.

His master's hand reached out, fingers blindly searching for something near the door. They found their target with practiced ease, resting on the lightswitch. She inclined her head in the slightest to look back at him. "Will you be joining us in Japan?"

His eyes closed, defeated. "I will not help you destroy yourself."

"Very well." The lights flickered off. Her eyes softened for him, as they had always done. "I'm sorry", she whispered. She shut the door on her way out, leaving only a crack and plunging him in complete darkness. His keen ears picked up her murmur from outside in the hallway. "I hope that you can forgive me, Aoi."

Aoi turned around and leaned against the bed, head dropping back onto the mattress. Another flash came as the little girl with bright eyes smiled up at him. She reached out, giggling at him.

_"Tag! You're it, Aoi!"_

The blue-eyed man let out a sigh, and a soft sad smile. "I have already forgiven you. But will you be able to forgive yourself when this is all said and done?"

* * *

**A/N:** I hope that you've enjoyed this first installment of _Limitless_. Please feel free to review. I'd like to know what you think of my new writing style, and if it's better or worse thann it was in _Soul Bound_. Also, you can suggest ideas for future arcs. Phrase it as a statement or question.

**Example Prompt Statement/Question (**From xXxRena-MariexXx**): **_What would happen if the twins were seperated at birth?_

If you are using the guest review, then please end your review with a signature or something that I can know oyu by to see if you're a regular to my story.

**Example:** ~YourNameHere


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